


Poison In The Water

by extradimensional



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extradimensional/pseuds/extradimensional
Summary: They found Ellana sequestered by herself, holding her hand up like an offering to an empty god. Where once laid the anchor now sat a massive hole straight through her palm, blood and viridescent goo riveting in streams down her arm. One could see straight through it, as if no vein or muscle had been there at all.And yet there sat the Inquisitor. She was on her knees, staring at a massive eluvian, showing no signs of pain to the average on-looker. But Bull saw it, the Iron Bull saw fucking everything.---In which Lavellan loses an arm and Cullen almost loses Lavellan.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus (minor)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	1. Lead the Lamb to Slaughter

**Author's Note:**

> There simply is not enough fanfic revolving around the drama and angst of the main character losing a limb, so allow me to fill in the void of pain for you!
> 
> P.S. Yeah, I know Solas basically desintergrates the Inquisitor’s arm but that’s too easy. It is far more dramatic to have him rip just the anchor out instead. 😏

They found Ellana sequestered by herself, holding her hand up like an offering to an empty god. Where once laid the anchor now sat a massive hole straight through her palm, blood and viridescent goo riveting in streams down her arm. One could see _straight through it_ , as if no vein or muscle had been there at all.

And yet there sat the Inquisitor. She was on her knees, staring at a massive eluvian, showing no signs of pain to the average on-looker. But Bull saw it, the Iron Bull saw fucking everything.

“Boss?”

No answer.

“Lavellan?" 

Her head inched to the side, only for a moment.

“Fuck, she’s in shock.”

Cassandra was never one to sit around when she could take action, and she would have whirled right passed Bull and Dorian had the former not put an arm out to stop her.

“Don’t. Trust me.”

“She’s bleeding out. We must get her back to the Winter Palace at once!”

Dorian side-eyed Bull. This was out of his league of expertise and he happily let the ball sit in his amatus’ court. After all, this was the least in pain she had been in for days. Whatever had blocked them out of the last of eluvian had removed the anchor, had obviously not wanted Ellana immediately dead, lest she’d be a corpse right now.

“What’s your logic in this situation, Bull?” he asked, having to hold himself back from running up to his dearest friend and pulling her into his arms just to do something. Anything.

“If we touch her and she lashes out, her heart rate will spike, she’ll bleed out quicker, and we’ll waste even more time. We give her a second, we wait until she’s responsive, then she can down a few of elfroot potions before we move. It’ll stem the bleeding before starting the trek back."

“And if she doesn’t come back to herself?” Cassandra asked.

Bull smirked, but there was no mirth in it. “I can restrain a 5’2 elf, Seeker. I’d just rather not have to. Don’t wanna fuck her up anymore than she already has been.”

“Very well. Two minutes. I’ll waste no more precious time than that.”

Two minutes. 120 seconds that dragged on and dragged on in this painfully beautiful place, where the birds sang sweet songs, and the sun shined lazily. There was no one to kill to pass the time, nothing to do but think in rushed circles of frustration.

But on second 101, Ellana gasped in a shuddering breath. She collapsed onto her side, squeezing her damaged hand against her chest. “Solas,” she muttered.

Cassandra rushed forward at once, Dorian close behind, while Bull hovered in the rear.

“What of Solas, dear?” Dorian asked while popping the cork off a bottle of elfroot, trying desperately to keep the worry out of his voice.

“He’s—It’s _him_. He’s Fen’Harel.”

Dorian’s cool hand went to her forehead as she repeated that wicked truth again. _Fen’Harel._ _Fen’Harel_. _Fen’Harel._ “She’s feverish. Maker, she’s burning up.”

She shook her head as the bitter taste of elfroot filled her mouth. It burned as it went down her throat, leaving her coughing and gasping for air.

“We’re gonna get you back home now, Boss. But it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Ellana ascented. Solas’ voice echoed through her mind. He was her friend and now he was trying to destroy the world for a second time. It was wrong, she’d show him a different choice. There’s always a choice.

Her mind became nothing but white noise as she was halted up against Bull’s chest. An inhuman noise, akin to butchering a halla ripped through her, while she smeared fresh blood over her face.

“Hold on, alright? I know it hurts, but you’ve got to keep those eyes open for me,” Bull begged. If she fell unconscious, she was done. Dead in his arms. There were worse ways to die, Bull had seen them, but he couldn’t let her go so easily.

She deserved a chance, no matter how small.

Their own saving grace was that Solas had somehow programmed this eluvian to lead directly back to the Crossroads, meaning they only had to run through two mirrors to get back to Thedas proper. Life was funny like that, how the person who you may have to kill, who would kill you to meet their own ends, also was the only reason you were alive.

_The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you, at least for now._

For now. If removing the mark wasn’t enough to keep her alive, what was?

A cough wracked Ellana’s chest, her spit tinted with red as soon as Bull ran through the final eluvian back to the Winter Palace. Leliana, Josie, and Cullen all stood in the small prison cell to meet the party, but it wasn’t a reunion of celebration.

“What hap—”

“Later, Josephine. She needs the surgeon _now_ ,” Cassandra stated, pushing past her friends and running into a sprint.

“They’re waiting already inside,” Leliana stated. “We were warned of your return and did not waste the time to question its validity.” The Divine placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder as Bull waltzed past with Ellana still in his arms.

“She’s going to die,” he whispered, every bone in his body taunt. He wanted to rush to her, to gather her close, and never let her leave his sight again.

“Possibly,” Leliana answered. Being Divine Victoria had not changed her truthfulness. “But Ellana is not one to give up so easily. We both know that.” She patted his shoulder. “Go. Be with her. But when the healers kick you out, you will leave. Else I’ll hit you with knockout powder.”

Cullen nodded dumbly in agreement. He didn’t have the wits to do much else as he slowly made his lone procession back to the palace.

The small room set up in the healing wing was filled with organized chaos, and in the middle of it laid Lavellan atop of a table. He made his way to her side, the surgeon only then noticing his present.

“Commander,” she nodded. “Perhaps this is not the place for you to currently be.”

He held up a palm. “Just until she’s asleep. I’ll leave you to your work, you have my word.”

The surgeon looked at him skeptically before agreeing and going back to gathering equipment. Cullen knew they didn’t have much time, especially when he finally reached his wife’s side and could truly look her over. Maker, she looked so small laying there, strands of her brown hair ripped out of the braid she normally kept it back in, her lips stained red with blood, and her eyes. Andraste preserve him, her violet colored eyes were blood shot and glazed over. She was dying. She was dying and there was nothing Cullen could do but stand there and watch.

He ripped off his glove and grabbed her good hand, kissing it. Ellana’s head lulled towards him and she managed a smile. “This is all rather melodramatic, isn’t it?” she laughed, though it came out more like a wheeze.

“You do know how to cause a scene.” He couldn’t help how his own grief softened, if only for this moment. If they both tried very hard, perhaps they could pretend none of this was happening. That they were back in their bed, telling the rest of the world to go away.

That is, until another wave of pain radiated through Lavellan, causing her to scream. She’d been in pain for so long, the anchor growing and spreading for months now, if not since the moment she had gotten it. But now that it was gone, a new type of pain wrapped her in its embrace and suffocated her.

“I’m scared,” she whispered as her mood changed as if by the force of a well aimed whip. “I don’t want to die, Cullen. Not yet.— _Please._ ”

He tightened his grip. Cullen’s cheeks were already wet and he found he no longer had the strength to fight back all his sorrow.

“Shhh,” he kissed her forehead. “We’ll have no more of that talk. They’re going to put you to sleep now, Ellana. I’ll be right beside you when you wake.” He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want her to leave this world full of fear either.

She may yet live, he hastily reminded himself. Why must he see no hope in every situation?

With what little strength she had, the Inquisitor pulled Cullen back down and kissed his lips hard. It was far from sweet, what with it tasting of copper and stained with the last of her life blood, but it was theirs. No one could take that away.

“I love you,” Cullen whispered. “With all my heart.”

A healer moved to the head of the table then. That was the signal. This was it.

Lavellan had used the last of her energy on that final embrace, and all she could do was lay there as her heart stuttered on every beat. But she kept her darkening vision on Cullen alone. Afterall, there were no gods to pray to, not anymore. If she was going to choose her last thought, let it be of him.

The healer placed a hand on her forehead. “I’ll wake up,” she repeated as the world fell away, her husband blurring into white until her eyelids got too heavy to keep open.

Cullen watched as the pain left her body and her eyes closed. She looked so young, so relaxed, but also empty. A shell of everything that made her, her.

“Commander,” the surgeon spoke up, now with a tray of scalpels and saws near by.

He cleared his throat and nodded, placing Ellana’s hand onto her chest gently. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll leave you to it.”

And somehow, as if by magic, Cullen managed to drag himself out of the operating room. Dorian found him by the exit, the dog by his side. Instantly, Dog trotted over to his owner and nudged at his hand.

“Hi, pup,” Cullen managed, sinking his fingers into the dog’s coat.

“I’ve been told not to leave you alone,” Dorian concluded. “And to drag you back to the makeshift war room before any of the annoying arse nobles find you alone and defenseless.”

“By who’s decree?”

“Divine Victoria’s, of course. She scares me too much to disobey and frankly, I think we all deserve a drink and some quiet. I’m quite sure I’d set someone on fire if I had to socialize with actual people right now.”

Not needing much prompting, Cullen followed. He was too distracted to notice how the few souls they passed gave them such wide girth.

The room was empty when they finally descended down the stairs, and Dorian steered Cullen into a seat before placing a glass of brandy in his hands. One gloved, one not.

“I always hated waiting when you all went into battle and I stayed behind. I always had faith that everyone would return. After Haven, how could I not? But this last day has been a nightmare,” Cullen hung his head down low. “She went into the damn mirror after giving her own bloody eulogy, acting as if I was a widower while she still had a pulse. Still had a _choice_. And…fuck. Fuck! Why couldn’t she just be selfish this once? Why didn’t she tell me, tell anyone, that she was so sick! I want to tell the whole world and every idiot in this Maker damned council to sod off, to jump into the Void for all I care because—” Cullen gasped for breath, an emotion he couldn’t name clawing at his breast and bubbling out of his throat. “Because they’re killing her. She’s been dying this whole time.” 

A revelation came to the Commander then. “Do you think that’s why she married me? Because she knew she was going to not walk out of here alive?”

“No,” Dorian said firmly. “She married you because she loves you.”

“Five days ago.”

Dorian titled his head, not quite catching on. “I’m sorry?”

“We were married 5 days ago. What if I have to put her on a funeral pyre within the same week? Maker, I’m not even sure of Dalish death customs. Do they even burn their dead?”

“Cullen.” Dorian leaned over his own chair to place a hand on the Commander’s forearm. “Drink. You’ll drive yourself mad if you keep going on like this. She’s not dead yet. For my sake at least, stop acting as though she is.”

He obeyed and downed the contents of his glass. Silence latched onto the room.

“What are they doing to her?” Cullen asked.

Dorian shrugged, looking deep into his glass. “Trying to close the wound I suppose.”

“There was a saw set up. Quite a few, actually. What are they actually going to do, Dorian? I can handle the truth.”

He ran his fingers over the pointed edges of his mustache. “I’d imagine they’ll remove her hand. I’m no healer, but that was where the bulk of the damage was. The source, if you will.”

That was doable, wasn’t it? Lavellan was a mage, she didn’t need to worry about losing her sword arm or needing two hands to use a bow. She could do it. She could.

“Cullen?” Dorian asked, pulling him from his trance. “There’s something you should know. Something all the advisers should know actually.”

“Yes?” 

“Right after we found her, when she finally came to, Ellana said something. It makes little sense, but she kept mumbling it, and if it holds some truth…well, we certainly have a problem.”

“What did she say?”

“That Solas was Fen’Harel. We never reached him, you see. As soon as the Inquistior got through the final eluvian, something blocked us off. The Qunari were trying to track down Solas for whatever reason, and we wished to reach him first but when we finally got through…” Dorian trailed off with a shake of his head.

“What did you find?” Cullen clung to this distraction with open arms.

“Statues. All the members of the Qun that we had been chasing all this time were frozen, turned into stone. I’ve never seen a spell that could do such a thing; I’ve never even _heard_ of one. But there was no Solas, only Ellana and the missing anchor. I have no idea if what she said is true or were delusions brought on by blood loss and exhaustion, but Solas had been there. Whatever happened, they must have spoken.”

“And now he’s gone again. With Ellana being the only person who may have an idea on his destination.”

“Precisely my worry, dear Commander.”

Cullen heaved a deep breath and tipped his head back against the chair. Everything was a waiting game, everything relied thinking two steps ahead, yet not being too predictable in your hypothetical steps. Was war a game? If so, Solas had a massive advantage. 

“Would you like to play a game or two of chess?” Cullen asked. “There’s a board around here somewhere.”

“Yes,” Dorian replied almost instantly, also desperately needing the distraction. “I rather think I would.”

—

Leliana found them hours later in the same place. Dog’s head was resting in Cullen’s lap while Dorian tried his hardest to get away with cheating another win.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted, forcing both men to look up at her.

“My lady,” Dorian quipped. “Care to join us for a round? Perhaps you could put the Commander in his place.”

But Cullen’s mind was now no longer in the game, but rather stuck on every reason Leliana would be down here. “Do you have an update?”

“I do,” she leaned against the war table and took off her head piece, shaking her hair free with a sigh. “She still lives. But the damage was worse off than the healers had first thought.”

 _Lives. Lives._ _Lives._

Cullen clutched at his chest before collapsing forward. “Praise the Maker and his bride. She’s alive. I had thought…All this time had passed and—”

“It’s still touch and go, Cullen. She’s very weak and hasn’t woken yet. There is also a great worry for infection and that more of her arm will have to be amputated.”

“Arm? I thought it would just be her hand.” Dorian’s brows furrowed. “How much did they remove?”

Leliana rolled up the sleeve of her gown and placed the side of her hand against the crook of her elbow. “Right above here. Her whole forearm had to be removed to cut off any lingering taint from the mark.”

“Have you seen her?” Cullen found himself asking. “How did she look?”

“Yes, I did. But only from a distance. She looked as one would expect she would.”

“May I see her?” He chewed on his bottom lip and chose a spot over Leliana’s left shoulder to stare at. Easier not to cry if he could focus on something, easier to keep himself together. He’d need to now. Ellana would need him to be strong for the both of them.

“You may. But the healer stated there should be no other visitors for the time being. Her environment needs to be kept as clean and tidy as possible, and her stress minimal.”

“Well then, she’s certainly in the wrong place for that. What with our whole organization being on trial and everything,” Dorian said.

“I’ll handle that. If I so much as hear a peep out of Teagan, I’ll have Alistair hang him by his toenails in the town square. The same for the Duke, of course, though he’s much simpler to deal with. Ferelden actually likes the Arl, whereas I could poison the Duke at dinner and simply move onto the next course without a fuss.”

“Maker, you’re so frightening. I love that.”

Leliana beamed at Dorian before placing her hat back on. “She’s been moved to your chambers, Cullen. They’re easier to protect and I figured you wouldn’t wish to leave her side anyway. Come. I’ll accompany you while Dorian informs the others.”


	2. Blood On The Horizon

Ellana laid in the center of the bed with what remained of her armed tightly bandaged up and tucked against her chest. Already blood had begun seeping through the wrapping. She’d hate that, Cullen thought. Laying in the center. She preferred the left side with the protectiveness of a lioness, even if she slept alone. Their first night together she had pushed him out of the way with her feet in the small of his back to gain her coveted spot,shushing him with a kiss so deep that he couldn’t see straight after. _It’s just better_ , she claimed. _Your shem beds are far too massive anyway._

He shouldn’t move her, he knew. She needed rest, to let the medicine in her system work properly and to keep the wound closed, and Maker forbid he cause her pain by shifting her over. No, he’d wait.

Dog whined on the floor next to Cullen, as he very much wanted to get up on the bed. They’ve only had him since they arrived in town, yet he had been spoiled rotten already.

“I know,” Cullen cooed, scratching the spot right behind the dog’s ears. “But she’s comfortable right now. I doubt even the breach opening back up could wake her, but I don’t want to chance it.”

The surgeon had warned not to expect Lavellan to wake for hours yet, perhaps even another full day. Leliana had chided him about eating already, warning that he better come down for at least one meal a day or else.

He fell asleep like that, molded into the chair with the dog by his feet. It proved how much things have changed that Ser Cullen Rutherford actually needed rest nightly now, and could do so for hours in a row. If you had told him that 5 years ago, he would have laughed straight in your face.

The only thing that woke him was a small sound of distress. He pitched himself forward, nearly falling out of seat and onto the floor.

“Ellana?” 

Her only response was turning her head closer to his voice. Her long hair fanned around her, knotted from the blood of battle and unable to be properly cleaned yet. Another thing she would lament upon waking.

Her eyes moved under their lids as she shifted against the mattress. Cullen debated waking her, as having night terrors were worse than not sleeping at all, when she mumbled something in Elvish.

“ _Fen'Harel ma ghilana. Mana. Ma halani." [1] _   


Cullen only knew a few of those words, but he recognized the first and the last bit. _Dread wolf. Help me._

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Cullen ran his fingers along her cheek. “Ellana, he’s gone. He won’t hurt you.”

“Cullen?” she asked with her eyes still firmly shut.

“I’m right here, love. Can you open your eyes for me?”

She made a sound of discontentment, but her eyes did flicker open to the room.

“This isn’t our bed.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She tried to push herself up then, but failed miserably. Cullen placed a hand on her good side and tugged her back down.

“You need to stay flat for right now.”

“But this isn’t our bed.”

He tried gallantly to not laugh, as this was not what he thought her first moment of consciousness would be like. He should have known better, having seen enough people directly after surgery. Maker, he’d been reading far too many of Varric’s novels.

“It’s the one we’re staying in while we’re away. You’ve been sleeping in it for nearly a week now with only mild complaints and a singular threat to sleep on the floor.”

“Who would keep you warm if I slept on the floor?” she asked while looking over the bright white ceiling. It was embedded with gold figures depicting some sort of scene from the Chant of Light. An odd choice for an Orleasian bedroom, Cullen thought.

“Something’s wrong,” Lavellan whispered.

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t we fixing it?”

Cullen sighed. Cassandra’s threat of tying Ellana down to a cot was on track to becoming true. “Because sometimes the world needs to fix itself. Sometimes it takes too much from us.”

“What did it take from you?” she asked innocently enough. A loaded question that could fill a book, but it all came down to one terrible thing.

“It nearly took you.”

“But it didn’t?”

“No, it did not. It took other things, though. But I think those are best to be reflected upon when you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

There was a silence so thick that Cullen was convinced that Ellana had succumbed to sleep again. He was about to lull over himself when her weak voice came through. 

“We should move to Highever,” Ellana stated with a huff.

“Highever? Why is that?”

“It’s by the water. And close to Varric, but still in Ferelden. I hear the king goes there a lot, and he’s very cute.”

“He is a handsome bloke, I’ll give him that. Should I be jealous? Are you going to leave me for King Alistair and wound my pride?” He placed a hand over his heart.

“No,” she stated seriously. “Though I wouldn’t turn down a threesome, if events happened to fall that way.”

“Noted. Now I think it’s best you go back to sleep now, love. I believe the surgeon may have went overboard with whatever concoction she gave you.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Okay, I can sleep.” And yet her eyes stayed glued to the ceiling. “You’re staying tonight, right? You can be a bit late for drills after all, and it’s been such a boring day.” 

Cullen took a deep breath and held it until it hurt. Oh, how he yearned for boring days. A boring day in Skyhold like they used to have, when the rain was too heavy to be productive and the only things to do were paperwork or read a book. 

He desired the little world she was currently lost in.

“No love,” his fingers went to card through her hair. “I’m not leaving. Rylen can handle the drills while you and I stay here. Skyhold won’t burn down without their Inquisitor for a few hours.” Her question hurt, as there was a time where his sneaking out before the sun rose was their normal. 

He waited until her breathing evened out before grabbing his mantle and tugging it over his shoulders. Cullen went without it nearly the whole week, instead having to deal with the stiff and unforgiving formal uniforms, but now he paid such decorum no mind. Even if it offered next to no physical protection, he wore it like armor against all the mental battles that he faced outside that ornate door. 

“Pup?”

The dog lifted his head.

“I need you to stay here and watch Ellana. Get help if there is an emergency.” 

Dog woofed in answer and Cullen knew he understood. And to think Orleasians hated Mabari. Their loss.

For once the hallways were quiet as he crept along the walls. A swelling silence engulfed the whole palace, continuing onto the small basement room the Inner Circle had taken over as their own. 

A few members of the Inquisition sat around on makeshift chairs, and all their eyes landed on Cullen as he paused on the bottom step of the staircase. He hadn’t known anyone would even be here, but a feeling lingered in his chest that at least some soul would be, that there would be someone to tell this news to. 

“Ah, Curly! We were just sharing some of our craziest Lavellan stories. Maker knows we have enough of them after three years,” Varric attempted a smile but it was tinged with something. Regret, maybe. 

They were having a memorial service; a wake, Cullen realized. A quiet one for those who would actually mourn Ellana as a person, for the masses surely wouldn’t. They’d remember her as a hero, and then as the years passed on, she’d become a legend. Her deeds would be remembered, but who she was as a person would be erased and rewritten over and over to fit a new narrative. 

Eventually, they would all have to face that future. Perhaps even by this afternoon, they’d have to face a cold body and watch a fiction be written before their eyes. But for now, their mourning was unwarranted and the Commander couldn’t let them suffer on. 

“She woke up,” Cullen blurted out to the room as he bounced on his heels. 

“And?” Varric worried away at the mug that held his ale. 

“And she knew where she was, or rather she knew where she wasn’t. But then she started slipping away and spoke of things that happened years ago. As if we were all in Skyhold and Corypheus had never been stopped.” 

Bull shrugged with Dorian perched in his lap. “That’s pretty standard.” 

It was. Cullen remembered losing time when he first was transferred to Kirkwall, only to come to and realize how far from home he really was. 

“Was she in any pain?” Leliana asked, now dressed in her normal attire. It felt like he had slipped back in time himself, just seeing her with that purple hood and the Inquisition emblem on her chest. 

“No. None, from what I could tell.” 

“And how are you?” Dorian inquired. “I doubt anyone has asked after your well-being.” 

Cullen waved him off. “I’m not important. Ellana—”

“—has a team of healers solely dedicated to her care. You forget to eat unless someone reminds you.” 

He dropped his eyes down to his boots. “Does that matter? Maker, I feel guilty for leaving her side even now. I keep reflecting on what would happen if the situation was reversed. Would she manage to leave my sick bed?” 

In almost perfect unison, the whole room uttered variances of _“Yes,”_ and a singular _“You dumb ass,”_ courtesy of Varric. 

Dorian looked Cullen up and down like a grandmother with a large wooden spoon. “She would leave your side to eat, sleep, and to socialize. And do you know why?”

Cullen shook his head dumbly. 

“Because we’re her friends and we would force her to. That extends to you as well, Cullen. We’re your friends, and you’re not going to suffer through this storm alone. So go, speak to the healers, do what you must, but know that I am not above Bull lovingly throwing you over his shoulder and forcefully dragging you from your chambers.” 

Cullen couldn’t think of a response to that, didn’t dare make eye contact with a single person in that room lest he start crying and never stop. Dorian was right, even if Cullen often forgot it. This was a group of people he had fought beside, lamented losses with. Maker, they had even seen him run through the barracks as naked as the day he was born. 

His small smile wavered as he saluted. 

“Yes, ser.” 

—

The rest of the night was painfully uneventful. Ellana didn’t budge or make a single sound during the whole of the examination. Cullen stood in the corner, out of the way as the healer cleaned and redressed what was left of her arm. 

The Commander had a plethora of experiences when it came to keeping calm and composed: He had been used as a blood sacrifice for days while watching his comrades die gruesome deaths in Kinloch, he watched his own Commander lose her mind and turn into a red lyrium statue in Kirkwall. Maker, he even managed to keep a straight face and not die of embarrassment when walking in on two lutenients having ‘relations’ in the training ring. 

Yet it was this moment that he cracked enough for someone to notice. 

The healer looked him over with her eyes. “Commander, are you alright? You’re looking a bit...green.” 

Cullen couldn’t fault her for the observation, what with the way his hand was covering his mouth and his shoulders were hunched in on themselves. 

“I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, I suppose.”

His attention fell back onto the wound. Leliana had been correct in the amount that was amputated, but the cut itself was cleanly done and the skin was sutured with small, even black stitches. It was steps above Cassandra hacking Lavellan arm off in the middle of a field and cauterizing it with a hot knife. 

“Have you slept, my lord?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“In a proper bed?” 

He hesitated. “Not exactly.” A chair was just as good as a receptacle to sleep in. 

“May I make the firm suggestion that you do so? You need rest, even if you have to take a sleeping draught. The Inquisitor will be asleep far past morning, if that’s your concern.”

The healer finished wrapping Ellana’s arm before pushing a vial into Cullen’s palm and leaving the room quickly after. It smelt of elfroot and something else astringent that would no doubt taste awful. 

Alas, he did what he was told. Against every fiber of his being, Cullen forced himself to sleep properly in the guest room, leaving the candles lit and doors open for easy access to the other chamber. He placed the vial on the bedside table as an ultimatum. One that he blessedly did not have to make. 

He awoke decently refreshed a few hours after the sun rose. Time hardly mattered, as he dictated the passage of it by the continual beat of Ellana’s heart. Morning passed in an agonizingly smooth fashion, but he knew it was only a matter of time; there was always a certain sereneness before a battle began, before a bomb dropped.

It began at noon with a shrill howl. 

He was perched on the floor, giving the dog belly rubs when the sound ripped through his ear drums and left him paralyzed, as if a banshee had frozen his limbs with a scream. And then quiet. Almost quiet; lungs sucking down air in a frenzy made terrible noises of their own. 

“No, no, no, no, no no! _”_

“Ellana?” 

Cullen leaped up and grabbed her shoulders, restraining her as she tried desperately to stumble from the bed. She made it the edge, even managing to stand before her feet lost their balance just as Cullen caught her.

_What was the old Dalish saying?_

Solas eyes had burned like veil fire. 

_May the Dread Wolf take you?_

“Ellana!” 

_You lied to me!_

“Darling, look at me. Please.” 

_Only by omission._

“Lavellan!” Cullen’s panic ran over her like ice water. She grasped onto him, but his steel frame seemed to slip through her fingers. 

_There is only death._

“Maker, there you are. I thought I lost you again.” He tilted her chin up towards him with a single hand. She didn’t fight it. Ellana felt like an Orelasian puppet cut from its strings. The feeling only increased as Cullen gathered her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing.

“It’s gone.” 

“It is.” 

She shuddered, sucking air through her chattering teeth. 

“My whole arm is—” Cullen fell quiet as he tucked her back into the soft bed, on the left side this time, and propped up a mound of pillows behind her head. “Where is it?” 

He shook his head. He had almost a whole day to think this through, to plan what to say, and yet here he was floundering. “The mark was actively killing you this whole time. The only reason you lasted this long was because of what Solas originally did to stabilize it at Haven. You were bleeding _green_ by the time they managed to remove it. It was the only way.” 

She met her gaze with the ceiling, trying to hide the way her eyes were brimming with hot tears.

“I need to speak to all of my advisers. Now.”

“No.” 

She tore herself away to look back at her husband. 

“Time is of the essence, Cullen. I need my Commander, not my—"

“I said no. _As_ your commander, as your adviser: no. Everyone saw you rushed into the palace looking like a corpse yesterday. They’re in shock. The last thing they need is to see you unwell. And as your husband, _I’m_ in shock. I thought I lost you. I thought I was lying when I said you’d survive the surgery, but I couldn’t send you into death so afraid. Maker, Ellana.” He shook his head. “You’ve given those vultures everything and taken nothing for yourself. Let me care for you before they try to pick you apart again.”

“I don’t remember how to do that,” she admitted apprehensively. “How to let someone care for me.” 

“Well, this can be a learning curve. For both of us.” Cullen kissed the tip of her nose. 

Ellana sighed. Perhaps it was all the magic and potions she was doped up on, but the drive she had just felt flowing through her nose dived into exhaustion. 

She had lost her hand. 

Solas has betrayed her.

All things that needed to be dealt with, all things that needed to be processed. But she didn’t have to do that alone, and she didn’t have to do it right this second. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would start over together and start saving the world one more time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dread wolf guides you. Help me. [1]


End file.
